


Jeeves and the Thorny Problem

by triedunture



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Games, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie starts seeing someone. And that someone is not Jeeves. Rummy circs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 1)** _

Title: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem  
Pairings: Bertie/OMC, Bertie/Jeeves  
Rating: NC17  
Warnings: dark themes, angst, hurt/comfort, voyeurism/exhibitionism, Jeeves POV  
Length: 21,000 words total  
Summary: Bertie starts seeing someone. And that someone is not Jeeves. Rummy circs.

  
&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

The life of a valet is one of varied hours, with additional tasks supplementing the daily chores of a home's upkeep in no small measure. One must be prepared to conform to a new schedule should one's gentleman take a sudden whim to travel or have exotic and difficult-to-obtain fruits for luncheon, for example. I have been exceedingly fortunate in finding a post as Mr Wooster's valet, as he has never requested the latter and has only announced the former with enough time for readying the luggage.

At any rate, this is my explanation for what happened: though I endeavour to keep a regular schedule for Mr Wooster's convenience, a dozen menial errands called my attention away from the flat in Berkeley Square that afternoon. If I had not decided to go to the post office, the bakery, and the tea shop that day, perhaps the unpleasantness might have been avoided altogether. However, as the Bard wrote, we defy augury: even I could have had no inkling of the consequences.

I returned to the flat at about three-thirty, balancing a few small parcels from the shops in my hand as I unlocked the front door. Upon entering, I removed my hat and proceeded down the hall with my intended goal being the kitchen, where the freshly baked bread and boxes of tea could be stored.

This was a very normal course of action. I feel a great need to impress this upon whosoever might read these pages. It is the only way that I can explain the extreme shock that came over me as I silently opened the swinging kitchen door. I pride myself on my ability to maintain a calm façade, what Mr Wooster has fondly termed my 'stuffed frog' expression. The sight that greeted me in that room, however, threatened to break that mask completely.

I see now that I am delaying the inevitable description of what exactly occurred; even now, months later, the experience pains me and I do not wish to relive it. I will endeavour to be as clear and straightforward as possible from this point onward, as there can be no peace in my soul until such things are confronted.

That afternoon, I saw Mr Wooster and another gentleman in the kitchen.

Though that might not appear to be so strange in and of itself, please allow me to elaborate. Mr Wooster and this gentleman were—

The only phrase I can conjure that encompasses the situation is _in flagrante delicto_.

Mr Wooster was seated on the kitchen table, and the gentleman (who was a stranger to me; I remember grasping onto this piece of information almost immediately) was standing, with his back to me, between Mr Wooster's spread legs. Those legs, bare and quite lithe, were wrapped round the stranger's still-clothed hips. In fact, it appeared that the unknown gentleman was wearing his entire well-cut ensemble while Mr Wooster, if the naked arms and legs that clung to this man were any indication, was completely nude. The movements of the two men, primal and rhythmic, combined with the cries that tumbled from my employer's lips left no question as to what they were doing. Mr Wooster's eyes were shut in what might have been rapture, his cheek on his companion's shoulder in a fashion that afforded me a view of his face.

I stood frozen in the doorway, one hand on the doorplate and the other still occupied with the wrapped parcels. My entrance was not noticed by Mr Wooster's guest, though my stare must have been felt by Mr Wooster himself, for his eyes fluttered open to settle on me, standing there dumbly.

I should have withdrawn. I should have shut the door. I should have done a million things, but I just stood there like an imbecile.

Mr Wooster's eyes widened, and his mouth formed my name soundlessly, his entire demeanor broadcasting palpable fear. We stared at each other, he over the shoulder of his (can there be another word for it?) lover as the latter continued rutting and grunting in his animal way against his body. Mr Wooster, helpless in this man's hold, crushed his eyes shut again; whether to avoid my gaze or due to a wave of ecstasy that marks the end of such relations, I will never know for certain. I found my feet at last, and I made a swift exit.

When my senses returned to me, I was in my private quarters, flushed and panting with my parcels still clutched in my numb hands. You might expect me to be disturbed and disgusted at such a sight as the one I've detailed here, and you would be correct, but perhaps not in the way you are expecting.

Divining my employer's individual psychology was a task on which I had prided myself; indeed, I had believed myself an expert on Mr Wooster, his emotions, and his moods. And yet here was something I should have noticed, should have _known_ to be true, not only in my capacity as a valet but as a man.

A man who loved.

I was not disturbed to see Mr Wooster in the throes of passion; I was disturbed that those throes came at the hands of another. I was not disgusted that Mr Wooster was involved in an inverted relationship; I was disgusted that he had apparently been in such a relationship without my notice. My anger was directed inward, and I cursed myself for letting this intelligence pass me by.

The facts, if I am to be plain about it, were these: I had loved Mr Wooster in silence for years and had believed the object of my affections was not in a position, nor possessed the temperament, to return the sentiment. In short, I kept my lips sealed on the matter, thinking Mr Wooster was a lover of women, if not a very successful or interested one.

Now I knew differently and...

I dropped the packages on my dressing table, unmindful of the bottle of hair tonic that was subsequently knocked over, and sat heavily on the edge of my thin bed with my head in my hands. The ramifications of what I had seen became clear to me. Now that Mr Wooster knew that I knew, I had no idea what might occur. Would he dismiss me from his service with a hefty sum to keep my knowledge to myself? Would he make plans to move abroad with this gentleman, as so many other men in his position have done in order to escape possible scandal? Would he leave England, and me, forever?

Should I even hope to remain at his side when the pain of seeing his love affair blossom would surely destroy me?

I have no way of knowing how long I sat in silent despair, but after what might have been minutes or hours, a gentle knock sounded on my door. I couldn't find the voice to answer, but the handle turned and Mr Wooster, now clothed if a bit rumpled, stood there before me, his face flushed a brilliant scarlet.

'I say, Jeeves,' he began, and then took an extraordinary interest in the tips of his shoes and the grain of the floorboards. 'I say...' he tried again, only to trail off ineffectually.

His fingers trembled where they rested on the doorknob, and as I bent slightly to study his downward-gazing face, I saw that he was quite overcome: his throat worked as he swallowed, and his temples were damp with fresh sweat. He was terrified, and I hated myself ever more for it. I had selfishly been preoccupied with my own fears when I should have been thinking of how best to ease those of my young master.

I stood belatedly, knowing I should have stood at his entrance, and spoke. 'Sir,' I said, my own voice rough after having been lost. I cleared my throat. 'It is all right, sir.'

His wild blue eyes, red with strife, snapped up to meet my gaze. 'You mean— Jeeves, you won't be calling the police or informing my relatives of, of, well, I mean to say—' he stammered.

I resisted the urge to take him into my arms and soothe him. To tell him I would protect him at any cost. To let him know he could trust me because I loved him more than life. But these words were beyond my ken. I could only stand straighter with my arms at my sides and say, 'No, sir. I have no plans to do so.'

Mr Wooster seemed to accept this promise of mine very quickly, and without questioning me on it, apologies began flooding from his lips. 'Dash it, I am so sorry, Jeeves! I thought you wouldn't return until this evening and, well, I just wasn't thinking clearly, I suppose.' He fidgeted with his shirt cuff, his eyes returning to the ground. 'I never meant for this to happen. Bally uncomfortable circs., what?'

'Indeed, sir.' I glanced in a discreet fashion over his bowed head, but could not ascertain the presence of the other gentleman I had seen. 'If I may inquire, sir, has your guest taken his leave?'

'Who, Thorny?' Mr Wooster quirked his lips as he often does when my meaning is obscure to him. 'Yes, he had a dinner engagement, and, well, I told him he might not want to hang about while I got all the facts straight with you, Jeeves.'

At my reserved silence, Mr Wooster continued. 'I had to tell him you'd walked in, of course. He offered to settle things with you himself, but I told him I knew my Jeeves, and I'm dashed if you didn't let the whole unpleasant business roll off your back like— What kind of backs does water roll off so well? Dogs'? Ah, yes, ducks!'

I coughed softly to curtail this train of thought. 'Am I to understand the gentleman in question is Mr Thornton Wrexton, of the Southampton Wrextons?'

While I had never come into contact with the young man, Mr Wrexton was a well-known figure among the members of the Junior Ganymede, infamous for his inability to keep a valet much longer than a handful of months. The club book had several pages dedicated to the youngest Wrexton, and almost every recorded incident was one of high tempers and fiery moods. Given the moniker Mr Wooster had used to describe his companion, and using my own knowledge of Mr Wrexton's approximate age, it was easy enough to deduce his identity.

Mr Wooster nodded brightly. 'You bally well are informed, Jeeves. That was Thorny, all right.' His face fell again. 'I say, Jeeves, things could get very bad for Thorny if he were found out. He's a good chap, you know. And, well, I mean to say, as his secret and mine intersect the way they do—'

I could see Mr Wooster was becoming agitated again, and I suggested we adjourn to the sitting room, where I prepared him a small afternoon refreshment. As he sat in his favourite armchair, I gently inquired about the circumstances that led Mr Wooster into Mr Wrexton's circle, hoping to absorb as many facts as possible before I formulated my own plan, for I had no intention of allowing the relations to stand as they did.

'It must have been two, no, three weeks ago,' Mr Wooster said as he sipped at his cocktail, 'that I met Thorny at one of those big blow-outs at the Stanton-Lacy place in Russell Square. Quinton S-L was at Eton with me, though I daresay I wouldn't know him from Adam now. But we bumped into each other in the Strand one afternoon and he told me I must attend his family's springtime gala; you remember, Jeeves? You had me wear the dove grey cummerbund instead of the red.'

'I recall the event, sir.'

'Well, I showed up to what was by all accounts a rather dull affair, but as I haunted the back rooms in order to avoid further dancing with the brood of Stanton-Lacy sisters, I was introduced to Thorny by way of a shared decanter.' Mr Wooster lit himself a cigarette and watched the smoke curl upwards with a dreamy blue gaze. 'You should have seen him, Jeeves. You might not have approved of the bright emerald cummerbund, but you would've been forced to admit,' he smiled to himself, 'he cuts a wonderful figure.'

I shifted on my feet beside Mr Wooster's chair. The light in his expressive eyes gave me an uneasy feeling in my midsection.

'We got to talking, as two chaps do at a tedious ball, you know,' Mr Wooster continued. 'The subject of repellent females arose and, though I am loath to speak ill of any lady (you know this, Jeeves), I found myself spilling all the facts about my unwanted engagements. Thorny had some similar tales and we commiserated in a very chummy manner.' He relieved his cigarette of some of its ash, tapping it against the crystal ash tray I had placed at his elbow. 'I, erm, don't wish to trouble you with what happened next, Jeeves. Probably don't want to hear what you already have, what? I don't wish to rankle your sense of feudal propriety.'

He spoke as if he were disappointed that his story could progress no further. Realisation struck me: this was his first and only opportunity to share his experiences with another, as even Mr Wooster's closest friends would not have been trusted with such intimate details. I weighed my words carefully before delivering them: 'I assure you, sir, that your tale does not disturb me in that manner. I cannot judge your actions, sir, and you should have no fear from that corner in regards to myself. Please, if telling this story would unburden you, I invite you to continue.'

What would become a familiar feeling of being divided overcame me once more; on the one hand, I did not relish hearing how my young master had fallen under the spell of this Wrexton, but on the other, I needed to know the details of these unfortunate circumstances so that I might move forward accordingly.

Mr Wooster smoked while he spoke. I perceived a faint blush painting his cheek. 'Thorny is much more well-versed in this sort of, erm, thing, you see. Two coves, that is. He hit upon it quite quickly, what I was. I mean to say, he stated it so bally plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I admit I felt a dashed fool, and sputtered in no small measure.'

'Am I given to understand, sir, that you had no previous inkling as to your nature before the conversation in question?' I asked.

Mr Wooster placed a fingertip on his nose. 'You've got it in one, Jeeves. Anyway, Thorny offered, in a very subtle and genteel way, to educate me in such matters, as I had no experience myself. Very white of him.' He crushed his gasper in the ash tray. 'I must say, things became clearer for me after that. I'd had no notion— That is to say, no one had ever told me about the option— Well, less of an option, mind you, and more of a—' My master paused, giving up this truncated line of thinking. 'I don't mind telling you, Jeeves, I'm greatly indebted to old Thorny.' A gentle smile played upon his lips and his fingertips trailed dreamily along his own neck as if tracing a path that had been travelled earlier in the day by another. 'Greatly indebted indeed,' he murmured.

I stood by stiffly, wondering if I dared ask Mr Wooster the question that clawed its way through my mind: was this a passing fancy on both their parts or was it more serious?

Mr Wooster answered before I could find my tongue. 'I love him a great deal, Jeeves,' he said with all the conviction of a young man with a ready heart.

I watched my employer sip at the last drops of his cocktail and attempted to appear unlike a man who had been dealt a blow to the tender and unguarded gastro-intestinal area.

'Very good, sir,' I might have said.

'I say,' Mr Wooster barrelled onwards, 'it's nice to get this off my chest, Jeeves. You can imagine how it's been for me, without a soul to speak to about this thingummy with Thorny.'

'Yes, sir,' I recall answering faintly.

'Oh, you must be properly introduced to him, Jeeves,' he declared. 'I'm sure you'll be quite taken with him. I've been having him over when you're out, as I wasn't certain it would be prudent to take you into our confidence just yet, you see; but now that it's all out of the box, might I invite Thorny for luncheon tomorrow?'

I worked my tongue in my dry mouth, mustering up all my control in order to answer: 'I will be sure to open a bottle of the '89 for the occasion, sir.'

And so the next day saw the young Mr Wrexton breeze into our Berkeley flat around one o'clock. There was not a blush on his cheek as he handed his hat and walking stick to me.

'Jeeves, I presume! Bertie speaks of you constantly. Holds you up as the valet to end all valets. So sorry about the circumstances of our first meeting, though I wasn't aware of it at the time. Too busy, of course!' He threw his head back and indulged in a hearty laugh.

The young gentleman was just as tall as Mr Wooster, though he was broader in the shoulders. His figure was pleasing to the eye, I had to admit, and his face left nothing aesthetic to be desired. Where Mr Wooster is fair, Mr Wrexton was dark, his shining brown locks curling rebelliously round his ears. His eyes, too, were dark though they sparkled with intelligence and humour. His mode of dress, like many young men of Mr Wooster's set who are perhaps not fortunate enough to have a capable valet to choose suitable cuts and fabrics, was as ostentatious as it was expensive. His waistcoat in particular was a most ill-advised paisley. I could see why Mr Wrexton had caught my young master's eye; it seemed all the clothing which I had banished from Mr Wooster's wardrobe had ended up on the form of this young Adonis.

Before I could announce him, the gentleman bounded past me with a holler and caught up Mr Wooster, who had peeked into the entryway at the sound of the bell, in an energetic embrace.

'Bertie, darling!' Mr Wrexton kissed him in the continental fashion on both cheeks, which immediately flushed. 'You're looking wonderful today, pet. Much improved since I left you yesterday. I felt like a cad running off like that, but that engagement couldn't be missed, you know.'

Mr Wooster caught my eye over his paramour's shoulder and cleared his throat. 'Have you met Jeeves, then?'

The guest extricated himself from my master and spun to shake my hand in a most forward manner. 'Yes, yes, I was just laying my apologies at his doorstep. Really, though, Jeeves, incredibly white of you to cast the matter to the side. Bertie speaks of you as the wise old uncle that he must turn to in all his scrapes, and it eases my heart to know that you remain true to him. If there is any remonstrance I might make—'

I do believe the man was actually reaching into his suit coat as if to fling a spare crown in my direction; Mr Wooster, seeing this, interrupted with an entreaty that Mr Wrexton take a seat in the parlour.

I was left in the vestibule, holding Mr Wrexton's hat and stick and turning the phrase 'wise old uncle' over in my mind.

It is true that I am older than Mr Wooster's five-and-twenty years, but I would not count myself as _old_. I had neither grey hairs nor a long shaggy beard, the hirsute markers of both 'wise' and 'old' in my mind. I had only just that month celebrated my thirty-second birthday; Mr Wooster had given me a new copy of Spinoza wrapped in brown paper and inscribed: _To Jeeves, a paragon if ever one was_. If anything, certainly the small disparity in our ages made Mr Wooster a more likely brother than a nephew to me.

I placed Mr Wrexton's hat and stick in their appropriate stands. That man's words had shaken me, for I knew if they reflected the feelings of my young master, then I had little hope of ever rising in his eyes to the level of a potential suitor. I endeavoured to put the comment out of my mind and devote myself to an afternoon of observing the two men together so that I could better scheme how to break them apart.

The couple was ensconced in the sitting room, sharing the chesterfield in a very familiar way. Mr Wrexton was sprawled bonelessly on its cushions with his tousled head resting in Mr Wooster's lap. My employer was raking his fingers through those soft locks in a tender manner, while Mr Wrexton, as he seemed wont to do, prattled on with barely a stop for breath. I watched the two lovers curled together like that until Mr Wooster raised his eyes to mine.

The look of pure happiness I saw there, unadulterated and beautiful, broke what I suppose I had left of my heart. So peaceful did he look, so without care and so full of joy, that I was immediately filled with shame. This was the man I purported to love and care for; how could I possibly wish to wrench this from his grasp? And for what purpose? To place myself, a man nowhere near his station, in Wrexton's stead? It was selfish folly, I could see that now.

However, I was determined to watch this Wrexton; if he held the key to Mr Wooster's happiness, I would ensure he took care not to squander that sacred task.

Mr Wooster tipped his head in the direction of the drinks cabinet, his expressive eyebrow communicating the request for two brandy-and-sodas without words so as not to interrupt the flow of chatter from the man resting in his lap. I gave a curt nod in reply and mixed the drinks with hands steadied from years of professional life. Mr Wrexton was still waxing poetic on some small, amusing piece of gossip when I delivered the glasses on a salver.

'—and Lady Brampton was aghast, of course, but what does she know of— Ah! Just what I required, Jeeves. I say, Bertie, you are absolutely right; your man is one in a million. Do you imagine we should bring him with us to Cannes?'

'Cannes?' Mr Wooster asked, taking his own glass with a whisper of thanks to me.

'Yes, I always go round this time of year. Did I not mention it? Well, at any rate, I desire you to come with me, if you have no pressing engagements. Do you not like Cannes? It can be very vulgar. Perhaps we should holiday elsewhere. Venice? Morocco? Only name your place, dear boy.' Mr Wrexton deigned to sit up in order to sip at his drink. I busied myself in setting out Mr Wooster's special box of cigarettes and a pair of ash trays, so as to hear the conversation.

'Jeeves, would you like to see Morocco?' Mr Wooster asked me, his blue eyes giddy and dancing with pleasure.

'I'm sure I don't know, sir.' I swept a modicum of dust from the mantelpiece.

My master ignored this lukewarm response, instead turning to address his companion. 'Jeeves loves to travel. Why, just the other day he was prodding me to take a look at all these brochures for round-the-world cruises. He also has the pash for Cuba, if I remember. Enjoys his fishing and shrimping, Jeeves does.'

'Perhaps you'd enjoy Rabat, Jeeves,' Mr Wrexton drawled as he lit himself a cigarette. 'I have half a mind to take a cottage there on the water. Oh, but it would be grand.'

'It sounds very pleasant, Mr Wrexton, thank you,' I managed to say. 'If you would excuse me, gentlemen.' And I bowed out to complete the luncheon preparations.

The meal was served without incident, though Mr Wooster and Mr Wrexton took the unorthodox approach of feeding each other most of the courses. For some reason, witnessing Mr Wrexton drop plump grapes onto Mr Wooster's waiting tongue wounded me more deeply than their most intimate lovemaking had. This was followed by a lazy hour spent at the piano, as Mr Wooster regaled his guest with his fine singing and song-playing before Mr Wrexton took up a place beside him on the piano bench to play several duets. They then returned to the chesterfield to lounge against each other, with Mr Wrexton periodically taking Mr Wooster's hand in his and brushing his lips over his knuckles.

I waited upon the gentlemen for much of this time, finding excuses to bring cocktails, light cigarettes, start a fire in the grate, answer the telephone, and any number of small tasks that I could find to occupy myself. However, when it became clear that all of my offices were seen to and Mr Wrexton was making no move to leave the flat for the evening, I was forced to trickle from the room with an unnecessary remark to Mr Wooster that he should ring if he needed me.

I sat in the kitchen and mechanically polished the silver while listening to the quiet murmurs of conversation and hushed laughter from the occupants of the sitting room. I do not recall ever feeling more alone as I did at that moment, with the happy couple on one side of the wall and I on the other. How foolish I felt for supposing I could ever supplant Mr Wrexton. What arrogance that I was convinced of my victory before the man had even crossed the threshold. As surely as I wanted to hate Thornton Wrexton, I had to admit that he appeared to be as enamoured of Mr Wooster as Mr Wooster was of him; that his infamous temper had not once shown itself that afternoon; that he treated my employer with all the affection and tenderness one would wish for; that his talk, idle though it may be, of future travels spoke of a longterm arrangement and not a flight of fancy; that he was, as far as I could tell, a very charming and affable young man, with a temperament very like my master's. In addition, he was a man of breeding with a sizable fortune at his disposal.

Indeed, as I tallied Mr Wrexton's positive traits alongside my own defects, I could not help but be cast into a black pit of self-loathing. I was certainly not able to measure up to the required standard when it came to Mr Wooster's heart, and the realisation caused me, I fear, some little emotion. A single silent tear fell on my cheek, tracking its way hotly down to the sweep of my jaw. I wiped it away hurriedly and continued buffing the silver serving dish in my hands.

I pretended with great resolution not to notice when the whispering voices moved from the sitting room to the master bedroom, as well as the sound of the door shutting.

The next morning I rose, as was my custom, at five o'clock to begin the day's chores. I was surprised to find Mr Wrexton already dressed and collecting his hat in the entry hall. I had guessed that his sleeping habits, like my employer's, would lean toward the languid side, and I had not expected to find him awake until well after sunrise. Nevertheless, I bid him good morning and offered to procure breakfast for him, but the gentleman demurred.

'Wish I had time, my good man,' Mr Wrexton said as he fished his walking stick from its stand, 'but I have an appointment at some ungodly hour this morning. Do tell Bertie I am sorry I had to go. I will see him this evening, of course; taking him to that new show at the Old Vic. Do you think he'll enjoy it? It's not the lightest entertainment, but he'd already seen all the West End musicals. I mean, what's a chap to do?'

I assured Mr Wrexton that Mr Wooster would undoubtedly appreciate the gesture, though in truth, the Shakespearean masterpiece currently playing at that theatre would probably not appeal to him. However, Mr Wrexton would never need know, as I was certain Mr Wooster would never mention it.

Mr Wrexton showed himself out and I continued in my usual morning routine, appearing at ten minutes past ten o'clock at Mr Wooster's bedside with a cup of Darjeeling.

Mr Wooster had not availed himself of his pyjamas the previous night, I saw. His bare shoulder, white and unblemished, sloped from the tops of the bedclothes, followed by an immaculate arm. If I cared to notice, the barest hint of his nude flank could be seen as well. I swallowed my baser impulses and coughed softly in my normal mode of waking him.

Mr Wooster is always a study in careless beauty upon waking, but this morning was perhaps made exceptional, as the langour from his previous night's activities made him especially wonderful to behold. His eyes opened by degrees before focusing on my face, and a soft smile lit his features. He stretched luxuriously, and when I suppose he noticed he was still naked beneath the sheets, memory dawned on him slowly; he turned to the now-empty side of his bed and frowned in a way that meant he was attempting to remember all the facts.

'Mr Wrexton left earlier this morning, sir,' I informed him. 'He sends his regrets.'

'Ah,' was Mr Wooster's reply, and he took the tea from my serving tray and inquired about the day's weather. He seemed unmoved, though I imagined I detected a small trace of disappointment that waking to find one's lover gone normally brings.

Over the course of the next few weeks, our flat was often graced with the presence of Mr Wrexton. He was constantly treating my master to theatre shows, dinners at the Ritz, and drives in the country. However, several occasions demanded that these plans be changed, as Mr Wrexton was at times unavailable or the victim of a sudden appointment. Mr Wooster never confided in me, but Mr Wrexton's own tone implied that he was wrapped up in some sort of complex business dealing. Indeed, I once couldn't help but overhear the tail end of a conversation alluding to such as I poured martinis in the parlour.

'—and then the capital must be managed in such a way that the interest is profitable, or there is no point at all! So you see, dear Bertie, it is all very subtle and delicate, and I must be present at that meeting with my banker and solicitor tomorrow afternoon.'

'I suppose so,' Mr Wooster, who was seated almost in his guest's lap, answered. 'But Thorny, I must say, I give all those problems over to my financial magician so I don't have to worry about it. He's an upstanding cove on Bond Street. My uncle used him for years and years and he's never steered me amiss.'

'Yes, darling, I know you have no head for business.' Mr Wrexton laid a kiss on the crown of this aforementioned head. 'And really, there's no reason you should ever worry about money. But I have my siblings depending on me, you see, and I really must put forth all my effort.'

Mr Wooster seemed to stiffen at this slight towards his intelligence, but he caught my eye across the room and instantly wilted. 'You're right, of course, Thorny. I'm sure I'll never understand all the ins-and-outs of this business you do. Jeeves has said I'm quite mentally negligible, and I'm sure he's right too.'

I nearly dropped the shaker. It is true I had once characterised Mr Wooster as 'mentally negligible' when describing him to another valet that was to replace me during my annual vacation, but I had only done so in an attempt to dissuade the man from seeking a permanent position while I was gone. That Mr Wooster had overheard this comment and taken it to heart had never been my intention. I opened my mouth to say so, but was cut short by Mr Wrexton's loud shout of laughter.

'You _are_ quite a specimen, Jeeves!' he chortled. 'Why, I've handed my valets the mitten over smaller things than that. It's a wonder Bertie's kept you around what with you so boldly stating facts in such a manner. I hope you will never change. I need someone to keep this angel in line.' And he kissed Mr Wooster playfully on the neck while my master squirmed in delight.

I left the martinis unpoured and excused myself from the room.

 

[Continue to Part 2.](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/470436.html#cutid1)


	2. triedunture: Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 2)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 2)** _   


Mr Wrexton's visits continued, with the Berkeley flat acting as a safe haven for his trysts with Mr Wooster, as no other household boasted such an 'understanding personal attendant,' to use the same gentleman's phrase. The couple even exchanged keys so that Mr Wrexton could drop in at his leisure, and he did so at every opportunity. Events took a strange and disturbing turn when, one evening at quite a late hour, I heard a key scraping along the front door. The portal opened to admit Mr Wooster and Mr Wrexton, both flushed, laughing, and smelling strongly of drink.

Mr Wrexton's unfocused gaze alighted on me, standing at attention in the hallway, and he hailed me with a glad shout: 'Jeeves! You will see that our revelry does not end at this early hour. Why, it's not even three in the morning yet, and I wish to dance with Bertie. I was not allowed to do so at the club.'

I raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch in Mr Wooster's direction. 'Am I to understand, sir, that you passed a diverting evening at the Drones in the company of your friends and acquaintances?'

Mr Wooster grinned like a scolded puppy might, if it only had a human face. 'I wanted to bring Thorny round to meet Ginger and Bingo and everybody, and I suppose we all overdid it just a bit.' He patted me once on the shoulder. 'Don't worry; I didn't let Thorny spill the beans. The Drones are as in the dark over this as they are about how to score a darts game without there being a tie.'

Mr Wrexton broke free from Mr Wooster's supporting embrace and swirled his way into the sitting room as if he were dancing with an invisible partner. 'Bertie, I wish there were a way I could dance with you and have you play a pretty song on the piano at the same time. Jeeves, do you think you might play us something?'

'I fear I am not as musically gifted as Mr Wooster, Mr Wrexton,' I said, following at a more sedate pace and ready to lend my master a hand if he should stumble. But as intoxicated as he was, Mr Wooster made his way safely to the chesterfield, where he collapsed in a pleased heap and beckoned his lover to join him.

Mr Wrexton did so, wrapping his arm round Mr Wooster's shoulders and coaxing his head to lie on his chest. 'You should have seen him, Jeeves,' he said to me though he did not look up from his contemplation of Mr Wooster's fair curls. 'The men of that club were all oafs and ogres compared to him. My Bertie brings nothing but sweetness and light with him where ever he goes.'

'Oi,' Mr Wooster said without heat, 'those are my dearest friends you speak of, Thorny. I went to school with them, and though Tuppy perhaps is a bit oafish and maybe Oofy and ogres are not so distant cousins, there's no need to say so.'

'Oofy Prosser,' Mr Wrexton said meditatively. 'Now he is quite an attractive man.'

'Is he?' Mr Wooster curled his hand into Mr Wrexton's starched shirtfront and played there idly. 'I never noticed.'

'And Ginger Winship. You two seemed to be on the most intimate of terms.'

Until this moment, I had busied myself with mixing a measure of brandy and soda with heavy soda, as I felt both gentlemen had imbibed enough for the night. However, at the creeping note of anger in Mr Wrexton's voice, my gaze snapped up to watch him warily. Mr Wooster, still prostrate against him, seemed heedless of this change in his companion's demeanour.

'Well, Ginger and I have been pals since we were both so high. At Eton we were like Damon and what's-the-chap. Pythagoras? Pythias!' He nodded to me, pleased he'd completed the thought without my usual assistance, and so did not see Mr Wrexton's face darken at the allusion.

'And which one, pray tell, was Pythias?' he asked icily.

'What do you mean, Thorny?' Mr Wooster responded without guile. 'What does it matter who was who? All I mean to say is, Ginger has always been my pal.'

At the murderous look that overcame Mr Wrexton's normally handsome features, I cleared my throat and stepped forward. 'Sir, perhaps you are unaware of some of the more codified undertones ascribed to those particular Greek figures. A close study of the original text will reveal that the men in question were actually lovers. No doubt Mr Wrexton misconstrues your meaning.'

'Oh, I say!' Mr Wooster sat bolt upright and placed a placating hand on Mr Wrexton's arm. 'Thorny, you couldn't possibly think I meant— Why, Ginger's a married man! Brought to the altar by my own doing, in fact. Well,' he smiled at me, 'Jeeves's doing, actually. But Ginger has never been to me what you are.'

At these words, Mr Wrexton grabbed the hair at the back of Mr Wooster's head and pulled him into a harsh kiss. I averted my eyes and returned my attention to the drinks on the sideboard. Though I did not see the embrace end, I heard Mr Wooster's breathless gasp and Mr Wrexton's answering growl: 'He better not be.'

'Of course,' Mr Wooster murmured in stunned reply. 'I don't have any such plans. What in the world makes you think I do?'

I turned back to see Mr Wrexton still threading his fingers through Mr Wooster's hair, and I feared he would use it as a handhold again, but he only said, 'I'm not blind, Bertie. It was perfectly clear to me that you are the most incorrigible flirt.'

'Oh, really—' Mr Wooster protested.

I took a step closer in case I was needed to forcibly restrain Mr Wrexton, who, I now theorised, was a man of mercurial tendencies and might, when drunk, turn to violence. However, upon catching sight of my movements from the corner of his eye, Mr Wrexton turned to me and said, 'No doubt Mr Wooster misconstrues my meaning, eh, Jeeves? I only mean to express my shock that every member of the Drones isn't falling over himself trying to win the attention of the sweetest Bertram. You understand me, of course? Those old beans don't know what they're missing.'

And just like that, the monster of only moments before had fled, leaving only the charming Wrexton fawning over Mr Wooster. I held my tongue and served the drinks, watching for any other unusual behaviour from our guest. But when they had both drank their sodas and agreed that the bed was their next and final destination, nothing out of the ordinary appeared, and I tracked their fumbling progress to the master suite with hawk-like eyes.

That incident should have been enough to arouse my suspicion, but I could think of no action to take thereafter. Jealousy was not an emotion that one could expect completely excised from Mr Wooster's lover, and surely when a gentleman is in his cups he might say all manner of disturbing things.

It was some days later that another strange conversation occurred, this time between myself and Mr Wooster. I was occupied with the task of filling out our monthly dairy order at the kitchen table when Mr Wooster came in and asked, in his roundabout way, if he might question me on a 'rather touchy subject.'

I paused in my calculations of how many pounds of cheese we might require to regard him with all my attention. 'Certainly, sir,' I told him.

'The fact is, Jeeves,' he seated himself at the table and lit a cigarette, 'I know Thorny is a dashed bit more educated than I am—'

'Sir, I have no doubt that your intelligence is greater than many perceive, and is not in the least negligible—' I began, for I had been waiting for the chance to apologise for my perceived slight since he had first mentioned it days and days before.

But Mr Wooster only gestured impatiently. 'No, Jeeves, I don't mean educated-educated. I couldn't give a fig about that at the mo'. I mean to say, Thorny is more educated than I in the matters of the, erm, bedroom.' He glanced at me quickly. 'You get my meaning?'

'Yes, sir,' I said, rather stiffly.

Mr Wooster sighed. 'Dash it, I wish I had someone else to dump all these problems of mine onto, but you're the only one who knows my secret, Jeeves. If you'd rather not listen, well, that's all right. Maybe you could just blink and nod and say "Indeed, sir" every few paragraphs.'

His desperation for a willing ear twisted my heart, and of course I was obliged to answer, 'I will give the matter my full attention, sir, if you will explain it.'

My young master took a deep breath and told me all, beginning with the first furtive meetings he and Mr Wrexton had undertaken in secret, always hurried and sometimes primal because of it; and then, with the safety of knowing the Berkeley flat was always at their disposal, a steady increase in amorous activities; and finally, the introduction of new concepts into said activities. I gathered from Mr Wooster's vague outline that not all of these changes pleased him.

An icy fear spread through my chest. 'Sir,' I asked in a strangled voice, 'none of these new practices is designed to bring you any harm or discomfort, correct?'

He looked at me with wide eyes through the haze of cigarette smoke. 'Oh, golly no!' he cried. 'Well, no more than usual. Physically, that is.'

'And mentally, sir?' I prompted quietly, my eyes locked on the pencil still held in my fingers.

Mr Wooster ran a hand through his burnished gold hair before taking his gasper from his lips. 'Sometimes Thorny says things, Jeeves. While we're in bed. I suppose it might just be the heat of the moment and all that overcoming a fellow, I mean. But there are times, Jeeves, when he says the most bally peculiar things.'

'What does Mr Wrexton say, sir?'

'Well, it's not so much what he says as how he says it, what? He says,' Mr Wooster leaned in to whisper, as if spies might be listening to us, 'that no one will ever take me away from him.' He leaned back with a shrug. 'I'm constantly assuring him that I only have eyes for one cove and his name is Thorny Wrexton, and he swears he believes me, but when we slip into bed, Jeeves, it's the one thread he always picks up again. He'll say it, you know, right in the middle of business, and I can't shake the feeling that it's not as romantic as one might think.' He crushed his cigarette out in the ash tray in the centre of the table that held the ends of my own gaspers. 'What do you make of it, Jeeves?'

The feeling of division came over me once more. One half of me wished nothing more than to inform Mr Wooster that these statements were the ravings of a lunatic and he should distance himself from Wrexton posthaste. However, the other part of me knew I had no proof of such a thing, and it was only my own selfish desires that wanted Mr Wooster to break those relations which I found so distasteful. I responded the only way I could under the circumstances.

'I could not say, sir.'

Mr Wooster did not confide any further intimacies to me. However, the question of these strange love-whispers of Wrexton's came to a head soon enough.

I chanced to be exiting the flat on my evening off when Mr Wrexton availed himself of his key and let himself into the flat. He greeted me just as I reached for my bowler.

'Jeeves, just the man I wanted to see. Not going anywhere, I hope? I wished to speak to you on a matter of some importance.' He removed his own coat and hat and hung them with the ease and familiarity of a frequent visitor.

'I have an engagement at my club tonight, Mr Wrexton, but I will endeavour to aid you however I can,' I said.

Mr Wrexton pursed his lips and then spoke in a low voice. 'Has Bertie mentioned our lovemaking to you at all?' he asked.

I did not make any immediate answer, and Mr Wrexton waved an airy hand at my silence. 'It's quite all right. I'm aware of how alone Bertie is when it comes to discussing our relations. It's not as if he has a gaggle of friends and relatives who are able to dispense advice. Whom could he turn to except,' he swept an imaginary piece of lint from my lapel, 'the inimitable Jeeves?'

'I'm sure I do not know, Mr Wrexton,' I replied with every ounce of coolness I had collected in my spiritual cellar, as Mr Wooster might phrase it.

'Ah, you are too much of a gentleman to betray a confidence. I like that about you, Jeeves.' Mr Wrexton then straightened my already-straight necktie with his nimble fingers. 'No matter. I assume he did speak to you. Perhaps he mentioned a certain level of unease on his part lately?' He patted my 'corrected' necktie with a pleased palm. 'I only wish to make things right between Bertie and myself, Jeeves. Surely you cannot object to that.' His face held the vestiges of sincerity, but I detected a slight hint of malice or mischief in his eyes, so I held firm.

'I will endeavour to aid you however I can,' I repeated with precision.

'Good to hear it,' Mr Wrexton said with a smile. 'Bertie tells me you're something of a student of psychology, so perhaps you will be able to give your opinion on my idea.'

'I suppose it would depend upon the idea, Mr Wrexton.'

'Well, here it is.' He shot his cuffs and began. 'As Bertie has undoubtedly told you, before he met me he was something of a novice when it came to love. I hoped to teach him the more tender arts and, in this, I believe I was successful.'

(I do not deny that at this juncture I ached to strike this impudent boy with a blow that would cause him to think twice before referring to Mr Wooster's virginity in such an offhand manner again.)

'However,' Mr Wrexton continued, heedless of my ire, 'as willing as Bertie has been with me, I also sense that he is not altogether comfortable in letting himself go completely. Do you understand what I mean, Jeeves? It is almost as if he doesn't trust me.' A hurt frown passed over his face. 'I try to communicate to him that he is safe when he is with me, that I'd never allow any harm to come to him.' Mr Wrexton raised his eyes to meet mine. 'I tell him no one could ever take him from me. And I mean it: not the police, not my family, nothing could tear us asunder, I am sure of it.'

'Indeed, Mr Wrexton?' I confess my mind was in a whirl. Here was a wholly innocent explanation for the foreboding words of my master's lover, and yet I could not shake the suspicion that all was not as it should be. 'What solution do you propose to this dilemma?'

He clapped me on the shoulder. 'That's where you come in. You see,' he said, 'I believe that Bertie would benefit from a reminder of his control, his singular power, in such a situation. For a man like Bertie, who has always been self-reliant, such a vulnerable position must be difficult to acclimate to in whole. It is with himself that he must learn trust; do you agree?'

'I see your line of reasoning, Mr Wrexton, but I do not see how I might—'

'Well, I was thinking: what does Bertie have complete control over? With what does he feel no qualms about asserting his naturally superior class? Why, you, dear fellow.' Mr Wrexton poked a finger firmly against my breastbone. 'You would do anything he asked. You would look the other way when it comes to criminal behaviour. You have proven that much already.' His eyes glinted in the dim hallway light. 'With you in the room, our lovemaking could become quite unbridled indeed.'

I felt the blood drain from my face. 'Mr Wrexton—'

'I should also tell you that I have an inkling of Bertie's penchant for displaying himself in front of a rapt audience. He possesses the personality of a performer.' Mr Wrexton reached into his suit coat and retrieved his cigarette case. 'It is my opinion that your presence would serve as a calming signifier of his individual power as well as excitement for his baser tendencies.'

'And suppose you are incorrect on the subject of Mr Wooster's psychology?' I bit out. 'Surely my presence in the bedchamber would be most unsuitable.'

'How could it be?' Mr Wrexton placed a gasper between his lips and ignited his silver lighter. He took a moment to puff in thought, then said, mockingly, 'Good old Jeeves would never do anything unsuitable.'

I could only grit my teeth with the strain of retaining my facade. 'I must refuse this request, Mr Wrexton. It is not within my power to help you in this venture.'

'No? Even if Bertie begged you to reconsider?'

'Mr Wooster would never consent to such a scheme. I'm afraid you're mistaken about his individual psychology, if I may say so.'

At that moment, my master, who had been partaking in an evening bath, entered the hallway in his dressing gown, toweling at his damp hair.

'What-ho, Thorny,' he said. Then, upon noticing myself in the tableau, added, with eyes averted, 'Ah. Have you spoken to Jeeves about the thingummy, then?'

My heart dropped to my stomach. 'Sir?'

Mr Wrexton sighed and scratched carefully at his temple, keeping his cigarette between two fingers while the other two completed the manoeuvre. 'I explained all to him, Bertie, but Jeeves thinks I'm playing a trick on him. Could you tell him I'm being quite serious, darling?'

My employer's cheeks turned a deep red, but he kept his voice steady. 'I know it sounds strange, Jeeves, but Thorny is pretty sure this will help, you know. Of course there's no obligation on your part, what? I wouldn't want to put you in an awkward position.'

I fought the urge to laugh bitterly, for what position could be conceived that was more awkward than this?

'Sir, to be clear,' I said, approaching him so that my shoulders might blot out the distracting sight of Mr Wrexton standing by the door, 'do you wish me to be present during—that is, while you and Mr Wrexton engage in an intimate moment?'

I longed for him to look into my eyes so that I might ascertain whether he was being coerced or speaking of his own free will, but Mr Wooster was occupied in flicking a small string from his dressing gown sleeve as he answered. 'If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Jeeves.'

The telephone rang suddenly, and Mr Wooster gave a click of his tongue. 'Probably Ginger wondering about tomorrow's lunch. I should go answer.' And he padded into the sitting room, leaving me once more with Mr Wrexton.

I stood there, my back to him, fighting to keep my perfect mask from slipping. What I was being asked to do was as distasteful as it was shocking, and every fibre of my being cried out to wreak vengeance on the man who had orchestrated it. But Mr Wrexton walked up behind me and whispered into my ear the words that would be my undoing:

'If it is not you, it will be someone else. Perhaps someone not so devoted to Bertie, who would not hesitate to engage in a bit of blackmail.'

'Why are you doing this, you odious creature?' I hissed without turning to face him.

'Bertie loves me and will do anything to please me,' he breathed in a vile manner along my neck, 'even allowing a thing like you to watch us in bed. This will be proof enough for me that I can keep him for myself, even when men who would steal him from me are only inches away.'

I inhaled sharply; he knew my secret. What clue had given me away? Had I allowed my eyes to linger on Mr Wooster's face a moment longer than was proper? Had I dressed him with too much care and affection? What chink in my armour had shown my heart to this fiend?

'Don't fret, my good man,' Mr Wrexton whispered in my ear. 'To the untrained eye, Bertie's, for example, you're just another marble-faced, stone-hearted valet. But I could smell lust on you the moment I shook your hand. It's a gift.'

'I do not lust,' I said with all my soul's conviction. 'I love purely and without design. I will not allow you to treat Mr Wooster in this fashion. The moment he returns—'

'You'll tell him...what? That I'm a monster who wishes to keep him safe from a sneaky and manipulative manservant? Who do you think will have his ear if it comes down to a fight between us, Jeeves?'

'I have served Mr Wooster for years. He has placed his trust in me.'

'Bertie is in _love_ with me. I've heard you're a sporting man, Jeeves, but do you really think the odds are in your favour this time?'

I could find no speech to answer this.

Mr Wrexton smoked as he continued, 'You won't touch him, of course. You may stand, I suppose, about three or four feet from the bed. I want your eyes open at all times. If you cannot stand to watch the entire act, then I'm afraid I will be forced to be quite firm with Bertie. That will surely get your attention.' He stepped round and glared at me. 'Don't look so dour, Jeeves. This lesson is for your own good. And besides, it will be the closest you ever get to him; may as well enjoy it.'

'I swear on all that I hold sacred,' I said, 'I will end you.'

Wrexton grinned impishly at me. 'I'd sincerely love to see you try, Jeeves. The only thing you have on me is my inverted indiscretions, and if I'm arrested for that, your precious master will be too. But by all means, pit your famous cunning against mine. And my connections. And my fortune. We will see who is victorious.'

Mr Wooster chose that moment to make his reappearance, his damp towel slung round his shoulders and his face still a light shade of pink.

'Well, I believe I'm ready to retire for the evening. Jeeves?' It was this simple questioning use of my name along with his raised brow that encompassed all of his inquiry. What could I do but bow my head and murmur, 'After you, sir.'

What followed was nothing short of torture. I went with Mr Wooster and Wrexton into the bedroom, where I was directed by the latter to stand beside the writing desk in the corner. With nothing to occupy my hands, I was forced to fold them behind my back as if waiting table at some great banquet. Mr Wooster cast me a worried glance as he approached the bed, the knot of his dressing gown belt in his hands.

'Don't worry about him,' Wrexton said, lavishing the side of Mr Wooster's pale neck with his tongue. 'He'll be quiet as a church mouse. You won't even remember he's there in a few moments.' This last remark was said with a callous smirk in my direction.

I stood by helplessly and watched Wrexton divest Mr Wooster of his silk dressing gown and slippers, his pyjama shirt and trousers, his undershirt and undergarments. Each of these layers was peeled away quickly, greedily, as if Wrexton could not contain himself; he certainly had no cause to, at any rate. Mr Wooster, at first silent and unresponsive to his lover's touches, soon became more vocal if not intelligible. His breathy sighs and gasps filled the room, and Wrexton flung him on the bed with the haste of a man who must soon catch a train.

Wrexton did not unclothe himself completely. He seemed too preoccupied with running his hands along my employer's skin in a possessive fashion. His necktie, a bold blood orange colour, was discarded by his over-eager hands, as was his waistcoat, but he only allowed Mr Wooster to unfasten the buttons of his shirtfront and flies before he growled in impatience and stopped his ministering hands.

I did not wish to witness what happened next any more than a bystander wishes to see a fellow human struck by oncoming traffic; the spectacle filled me with horror, and the merciless gaze of Wrexton, settling on me every so often as if to ensure my attention was kept firmly on the two lovers, set my blood afire. He wet his fingers in his mouth and, holding my eyes, used the digits to invade my master's body.

Mr Wooster cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

I dug my fingernails into my own palms and felt the blood well up there in eight half-moon shapes.

I tried to fasten my mind onto small details during the course of the ordeal, one of which was the question of why Wrexton had not disrobed entirely. He was a vain man who enjoyed showcasing his form in loud, fashionable clothes; what was his objection to nudity? Was it merely another measure of control he felt compelled to exercise over the evening? I recalled a similar sartorial situation that first time I walked in on the two of them in the kitchen.

He was forcing his member into Mr Wooster. I allowed my mind to become blissfully empty of all thoughts of the present. I instead focused on pleasant memories: Mr Wooster playing the piano for me, a well-loved copy of the works of Descartes, the way my boyhood home smelled during the dinner hour.

Mr Wooster screamed. His arms wound round Wrexton's shoulders and tightened there.

I began mentally repeating passages from Plato's Ethics. I ignored the pain in my hands, though I was faintly aware of drops of my blood falling to the carpet below, where they spattered like rain.

Wrexton must have been displeased with my calm, for he wrenched Mr Wooster into a sitting position astride his hips so that Mr Wooster was facing away from me. The sudden change of angle must have surprised my master, and he gave a shout and a fevered plea to his companion to slow down. Wrexton merely looked at me over Mr Wooster's shoulder and continued the awful pounding of his hips.

And then the worst: he addressed me.

'You must admit he's enjoying himself, Jeeves. Quite the little minx once you get him going.'

Mr Wooster, distracted by the turn of events, twisted his head round to perhaps question Wrexton on his provocation of me, but Wrexton silenced him with a finger held to Mr Wooster's lips. 'I'm speaking to Jeeves right now, darling. Kindly don't interrupt. Please, continue what you're doing; it's quite lovely.'

My master hesitated in full then, frowning at Wrexton as if trying to find the jest in his words. In retaliation, Wrexton pulled himself from Mr Wooster's body and spun him roughly so that he faced me, then resumed his conquest of my employer.

Mr Wooster moaned at the violent intrusion on his person, and he lifted his glazed eyes to mine; then he looked away, visibly making an effort to conceal his wanton pleasure.

Wrexton collected both of Mr Wooster's delicate wrists in one of his hands, gripping firmly to keep him immobile. His other hand snaked over Mr Wooster's heaving chest, where it pinched cruelly at his pink nipples. All while capturing Mr Wooster in this manner, Wrexton stared me down, his eyes daring me to protest.

I said nothing. I did nothing. I tried in vain to recall the names in chronological order of every barnyard cat I had ever known; it was a better alternative to watching Mr Wooster's face contort in ecstasy.

The beast Wrexton continued his taunts: 'I daresay he would do anything when in such a state. What do you think, Jeeves? Perhaps he'd even take your prick in his mouth while I buggered him. Bertie might enjoy something to keep that mouth of his occupied.'

'Thorny!' Mr Wooster gasped. 'What on earth are you talking about?' His worried eyes darted over to me. 'I wish you'd leave Jeeves alone.'

Wrexton pulled at Mr Wooster's hair, forcing his neck back at an awkward angle so he could more easily whisper in his ear. 'There we are. That's what I mean; communication, trust, comfort. That's exactly what this is designed to elicit. You see, darling?'

But his actions belied his words. He held Mr Wooster tighter in his arms, and I was certain he would leave bruises. He redoubled the rhythmic pounding of his hips, forcing Mr Wooster from his knees to his stomach on the bed, where he was crushed under the weight of his lover, pinned to the mattress.

'Please, so close,' Mr Wooster pleaded, writhing helplessly.

'Tell me you love me,' Wrexton demanded.

'Of course I love you,' he answered without hesitation.

'Louder, so Jeeves can hear it.'

'I love you!'

I shut my eyes briefly.

'Again,' the cur ordered.

'Love you!' Mr Wooster groaned and, with a shiver, seemed to reach his completion. I fought the rise of bile in my throat and dutifully witnessed Wrexton grind away at Mr Wooster's recumbent form until he, too, howled his way through his peak.

Then the awful nightmare was over. Wrexton untangled himself from Mr Wooster and left him sprawled, motionless and panting, on the rumpled bed sheets as he fastened his flies and shirt buttons once more. I continued standing in my corner, unsure if I would be allowed to move, though I desperately wished to fly to Mr Wooster's side and ensure he hadn't been harmed by Wrexton's violent parody of love.

Mr Wooster, in time, lifted his head and saw Wrexton fixing his necktie under his now-immaculate collar. 'Thorny, are you not staying?' he asked.

'Afraid not, pet. I forgot to mention, I have a dashed important meeting tomorrow morning. It wouldn't do to be late. Early to bed with this one, I fear.' He dropped a kiss on my employer's forehead on his way to the door. 'I'll telephone you in the afternoon. Good night, dearest.'

And as quickly as he'd come, he was gone. The sound of the front door closing announced his departure.

Mr Wooster blinked several times, his confusion at Wrexton's abruptness evident on his expressive face. I coughed softly and endeavoured to speak without a crack in my voice.

'Shall I run a bath, sir?'

'Yes, Jeeves.' Mr Wooster propped his willowy form upright on the bed, wincing as he did so. 'I'm awfully sore, what?'

I set about my task. He did not meet my eyes as I helped him to the bathtub and lowered him into the steaming water. He did, however, silently allow me to wash his hair, which I had only done once, when he was sick with fever and couldn't manage it himself.

I was occupied with changing the soiled bed sheets when Mr Wooster entered the bedroom, clothed in his green suit of pyjamas. 'Quite a rummy evening, Jeeves,' he said.

'Yes, sir,' I replied, and fixed the corners of the sheets into tight lines.

'I'm sure Thorny would count it a success, but I'm not so sure.' He worried his so-recently kiss-bitten lips and sighed. 'I hope you don't take offence, Jeeves, but I don't think I'd ever want to repeat the thing.'

'Thank you, sir,' I said in an even tone. 'I confess I agree with you on this point.'

'Good, good.' He nodded. 'I apologise for any shocking things Thorny might have let slip. The heat of the moment and all that, like I told you.'

I neglected to tell Mr Wooster that it was not his slip for which to apologise. I only murmured some sort of acknowledgement, guided him into the fresh bed, and made my way to my own quarters to pass a sleepless night staring at the ceiling.

 

[Continue on to Part 3.](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/470666.html#cutid1)


	3. triedunture: Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 3)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
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_ **Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 3)** _   


The crux of my problem, as I saw it, was this: Mr Wooster's unswerving love for this blackguard would supplant any schemes on my part to be rid of him. Mr Wooster was only acquainted with Wrexton the Charmer. Without proof of Wrexton the Scoundrel, all of my pleas to throw him aside would fall on deaf ears. Indeed, such a seemingly baseless accusation might serve to anger Mr Wooster to the point of dismissing me, which would surely leave him defenseless, and that I could not abide.

(I have seen this phenomena among many of my own friends and family members; when one is blinded by love, even warnings from a trusted source serve only to rankle. It is an annoying effect of that emotion that leaves one very often in the role of the idiot.)

So my word alone would not be enough to sway Mr Wooster. I needed something more concrete if I wished Mr Wooster to break ties with the foul Wrexton.

I am not ashamed to say I followed the man. I have often found this tactic of use when gathering information on persons in need of my attention, and I did it the very next morning, disguised well enough in a shabby coat and hat with a wide brim.

I was aware of Wrexton's familial mansion in Mayfair, and I made certain I was stationed nearby when Wrexton emerged at nine o'clock. I had a vague idea that his morning meeting, and indeed, all the other abrupt engagements he had had in the past, might not be simple financial matters. I thought there might be a criminal element to his dealings, hence the odd hours. Such a thing might provide the necessary leverage.

What I witnessed, however, was far more terrible.

Mr Wrexton proceeded to an exclusive club called Black's, which housed an extravagant dining room that afforded a view of the street via several massive French doors. It was through these that I watched Wrexton sit down to breakfast with another young gentleman whom I did not recognise. Wrexton greeted his associate warmly, and the two dined in the relatively empty club together.

Even from my vantage point across the road, I could see Wrexton reach under the table and squeeze his companion's thigh. The gentleman, who I now saw resembled Mr Wooster with his fair colouring, blushed prettily at something Wrexton said. I had seen enough. I crushed my half-smoked cigarette under my heel and made my way to the Ganymede.

There, I sought out Barnes, a young valet who was not yet an official member of the club but was hopeful of a sponsorship from a senior member. He also happened to be Wrexton's current valet, and these two purposes suited each other nicely. I told him that, in return for my sponsorship, he might indulge me in a few details about his employer.

Barnes was blunt. 'You're not thinking of trading in Wooster, are you, Mr Jeeves?'

I allowed him to think me fickle and dissatisfied, and he began supplying me with all manner of small details: how often Wrexton drank, how he liked his tea, what tailor he frequented. I gradually worked my way to what I wanted to know.

'Does Mr Wrexton entertain a very large circle of friends?' I inquired.

'He doesn't host big galas, if that's what you mean,' Barnes said, 'but he does have a steady stream of fellows that come visit him. Light luncheons or tea, nothing too fancy. Why, half the time he tells me to shove off; says he's discussing important business. I just leave a tray and—'

'Yes, quite,' I interrupted. 'How often would you say this occurs? I am very interested in allowing myself more free time and would like to know what a gentleman like Mr Wrexton is in the habit of doing, so that I might negotiate for much the same from Mr Wooster.'

'Ah, you're as clever as they say, Mr Jeeves.' Barnes sipped his tea. 'Well, I'd say almost daily! In fact, he just told me this morning that Mr Fruffington will be calling tomorrow around one, and I'm to make myself scarce until four. Not a bad deal, all told.'

'No, indeed,' I murmured. I then pressed Barnes in subtle ways to reveal to me the names of other gentlemen who called upon Wrexton at regular intervals. Barnes could recall five in the past few months. Of course, Mr Wooster was among them.

'Judge a gentleman by the company he keeps, Mr Jeeves?' Barnes asked me.

'Of course,' I replied, idly lighting another cigarette. 'One must be always collecting facts, Mr Barnes.'

I agreed to write Barnes a letter of recommendation to be delivered to the Ganymede membership board by month's end. He was much pleased and shook my hand, offering to buy me a celebratory cocktail. I reminded him of the early hour, though I told him that we might drink to his impending membership at a later date, and I took my leave.

I had much to do.

It was too late to contrive a trap for Wrexton that morning, but tomorrow at one o'clock proved an easy target. I made inquiries of other servants of my acquaintance and ascertained the addresses of the gentlemen beside Mr Wooster who were playing the part of Wrexton's victims (excluding the fifth, Mr Fruffington, who was already slated to be where he was needed at the appointed hour). I composed four telegrams, all identical, purporting to be from Wrexton, who was desirous of seeing the missive's addressee as soon as was possible. I took great care in crafting the message, clearly stating that the gentleman receiving the telegram was to come at half past one to the Wrexton house in Mayfair. To lend extra verisimilitude, I addressed each message to 'darling,' for I was certain Wrexton did not possess the creativity to dream of new pet names for each of his conquests.

I held these telegrams in my suit coat's inner pocket. And I waited.

It was difficult beyond telling to wait, as Wrexton and Mr Wooster had plans to meet that night for dinner. I dressed Mr Wooster in his finest white tie, vengeful thoughts flickering through my mind. Let him see Mr Wooster in all his beauty, I mused. It would be the last time, after all. I only prayed all went according to plan.

I need not have worried. It is very rare for an ill-mannered dog to learn new tricks.

I sent the telegrams the next morning, delivering my own message to Mr Wooster as he woke. My employer grinned at the note, no doubt thinking it a romantic interlude planned by his lover.

'I don't mind telling you, Jeeves,' he said as I laid out his suit, 'things appeared strained between Thorny and me yesterday. Well, ever since the other night, I mean. I keep trying to ask him what in blazes that whole mess was about, but he refuses to talk of it.' He read the telegram again with a smile. 'He seeks to make amends, though. Good old Thorny.'

My resolve nearly crumbled, but I had to go forward with my plan. Mr Wooster's gentle spirit might be crushed by the truth, but I was confident I would be able to restore him to rights. Though perhaps I should be close at hand to offer assistance when the blow fell.

'Do you wish me to accompany you, sir?' I asked without thinking.

Mr Wooster twisted his lips into a frown. I realised with a start that he misunderstood my intent.

'I only mean, sir, that I will be walking in that direction to visit the haberdasher's. I might go as far as Mayfair with you, if you like.'

'Oh.' Mr Wooster grinned up at me. 'Certainly, Jeeves.'

I ventured with Mr Wooster, who was in high spirits, to the Wrexton manor, where I tipped my hat and bid him a good day, though I actually rounded the corner before doubling back to watch Mr Wooster enter the house. I checked my pocket-watch. It was one thirty-six.

One could hear the raised voices quite easily from the street. Several gentlemen were shouting in anger, disbelief, and confusion. One gentleman after another stormed from the house and continued muttering on their way past me. I counted four, one still straightening his disarrayed necktie and securing his cuff-links. The unfortunate Mr Fruffington, I presumed, fresh from his discovered tryst. Such are the dangers in handing out house-keys and then dismissing a valet from his duties for the afternoon.

Mr Wooster was the last to walk down the front steps, his face pale and his mouth hanging open as if at a loss for words. His glassy eyes did not even look at me as I approached and took his elbow gently.

'The haberdasher is not in, sir,' I said quietly. 'I will escort you home.'

And we returned to Berkeley Square without another word passed between us.

Upon arriving home, Mr Wooster removed his hat and suit coat, unknotted his tie, and in the manner of one in a trance, continued to undress as he walked to his bedroom. I followed closely behind, picking up the clothing he let drop to the floor, like breadcrumbs in a children's story. Then Mr Wooster crawled into bed without a stitch of clothing on his frame and stared unblinking at the far wall.

'Would you like some tea, sir?' I asked, folding his clothes back into the wardrobe.

I received no answer.

'Shall I run a bath, sir?'

Not a sound.

'Is there anything I might do, sir, to—'

'Go away, Jeeves,' Mr Wooster intoned hollowly.

I blinked. Bowed. Took my leave with a, 'Very good, sir.'

I busied myself dusting and cleaning the flat for several hours. Every so often, I would peek into the master suite, but Mr Wooster was still curled on his side under the bedclothes, having not moved an inch. It was not until five o'clock that I heard a key scrape in the front door's latch. Perceiving that swiftness was called for, I unlocked the door myself and swung it open to reveal a surprised Mr Wrexton. His key was still stuck in the outer lock, and this I reclaimed before he could protest.

'May I help you, Mr Wrexton?' I asked without bothering to hide the coldness in my voice.

'Ah. Jeeves.' Wrexton wet his lips nervously. 'Is Bertie in?'

'I'm afraid Mr Wooster is not at home to certain persons at the moment, Mr Wrexton.' I began to shut the door in his face.

However, his volatile temper chose that moment to flare. 'Look here, you low pond scum! I will see Bertie now and not a minute past that!' He wedged his shoulder in the door and prevented its closure.

'Mr Wrexton,' I said coolly, 'I must warn you that I am not above removing you forcibly from the premises.'

'Just try it, you overgrown scullery boy!' he snarled, and I was about to oblige him when a soft, low voice came from behind me.

'Let him in.'

I turned to find Mr Wooster, pale and gaunt, swathed in his dressing gown with not a trace of emotion on his normally exuberant visage.

'Sir—'

'Let him in,' he repeated firmly.

I allowed the door to loosen from my grip, and Wrexton nearly stumbled into the entryway. He looked up at Bertie with his wild, feverish eyes and at once attempted to turn into his simpering, affectionate persona.

'Bertie, darling,' he began.

Mr Wooster raised a hand with such authority that the gesture alone stopped him. 'You were in bed with that man. One of the other chaps said it was Fruffington or Frompton or something. How many others were there, Thorny?'

'Oh, Bertie, they were colourless pebbles in a deserted stream, while you are the jewel that—'

'I take that to mean about ten or so,' Mr Wooster said. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and extracted a cigarette from his case.

'Bertie, does it really matter?' Wrexton cried. 'You're the one I love. I'm here because I cannot live without you; I see that now; I need only you!'

Mr Wooster lit his cigarette and watched Mr Wrexton from his slitted eyes. 'Do you?' he asked.

For a moment, my heart ceased to beat in my chest, and I believed Mr Wooster would take this devil of a man back into his arms. But at Wrexton's frantic nodding, Mr Wooster went on: 'I see several hours have passed since the incident this afternoon.'

'I needed time. Time to reflect on how poorly I treated you! I—'

'I also notice a sort of bruise on you. Right here.' Mr Wooster tapped his own left cheek. 'Quite an impression. Very fresh. Looks almost like a crest. Is it Milkins that wears a signet ring?' Mr Wooster rubbed his own temple as if to jog his memory. 'I only met him for a moment. And we were very busy at the time. Lots of commotion, you understand.'

'Bertie—'

'I would be alone, Thornton. Leave, and never come back.'

'But Bertie—' He advanced suddenly, and I moved to stop him, but Mr Wooster surprised us all. I watched my master, who I'm sure has never wished harm upon a fly, as he made a fist and struck Wrexton solidly in the nose. I detected the faint crunch of bone, and blood was soon gushing down the man's shocked face.

'Get out, you miserable worm,' Mr Wooster hissed. And he meant it to sting.

Wrexton did so. I locked the door behind him.

I turned to find Mr Wooster with his cigarette between his lips, examining his hand and shaking out what I'm sure was the ache that comes with landing so hard a blow.

'Sir,' I said. Pride for my master was welling up in me like a fountain; he had been so strong, so assured. 'Sir, that was wonderful.'

Mr Wooster looked at me sharply. 'Don't you speak to me, Jeeves,' he said with no modicum of fondness.

I was taken aback. 'Sir?'

'You don't think I know? Five chaps all showing up at Thorny's at the same time? He's not that shabby at schedule-keeping, Jeeves. This has your mark all over it.'

My silence was answer enough for his suspicions. He gave a dry laugh. 'I wish I'd never gotten that telegram,' he said softly, his vacant eyes staring at the carpet. 'I wish I'd never known.'

'You would have rather lived in ignorance, sir, than—?'

'Yes!' Mr Wooster exploded. 'Yes, of course I would rather live in bloody ignorance! Can you imagine how it feels, Jeeves? How humiliating it was, how stupid I look! Good God, a lifetime of deception would have been preferable to this.'

'Sir, I—' I took a step forward, but he turned and strode back to his bedroom. I followed, pleading, 'I did not know what else to do. I saw that Mr Wrexton was not a suitable gentleman for you and—'

He slammed his bedroom door in my face.

I haunted about the silent flat for some time, trying to bend my mind to any number of small chores but ultimately failing. I wondered if I should instead be readying my bag in preparation for dismissal. That thought put me in an even blacker mood, and I found myself sitting at the kitchen table with my head in my hands.

I felt as if I'd made a grave error. I replayed my actions in my mind a thousand times, devising other ways I could have disposed of Wrexton without causing Mr Wooster so much pain. But I arrived at the simple conclusion that I had not been thinking of Mr Wooster's feelings. I had assumed that I would naturally be allowed to mend Mr Wooster's broken heart; that I would open my arms and he would run to me. I was guilty of hubris, the most awful of all sins. I had been selfish and conniving and manipulative, all the traits I had hated in Wrexton.

I did not deserve to be Mr Wooster's valet, let alone his lover.

I rose from the table on shaking legs, determined to pack my things and leave the flat quietly so that Mr Wooster would not need to trouble himself with dismissing me.

I had only been packing a few minutes when Mr Wooster came into my quarters. He was still wearing his dressing gown, and his colour had returned somewhat though his face was still a blank mask. He watched me place some black socks in my old valise before saying, 'I'm sorry I shouted at you, Jeeves. You were right. I would have found out sooner or later, and it was better to be sooner.'

'Very good, sir,' I said, and placed a treasured volume of Spinoza, inscribed by my employer, into the case.

'Jeeves, stop packing. I can't let you leave now.' Mr Wooster smiled weakly. 'You know too much, old thing.'

The joke fell short of the mark, and I paused in my work to stare into the open maw of my valise and think of what to say. A wave of misery overcame me, and I fear I was speechless.

'I— I need someone who understands, Jeeves,' Mr Wooster said in a choked voice. He fidgeted with the belt of his dressing gown. 'Dash it, I feel like my insides have been systematically removed and trampled on with hob-nail boots. And there's not a soul who can know why, except you.'

I closed my eyes. Mr Wooster still needed me. I would be strong for him; I had to be.

'Jeeves? You don't want to go, do you?' Mr Wooster asked in a small voice.

My eyes flew open. 'No, sir!'

He nodded kindly, but his lip trembled and his eyes became red with checked tears. 'He told me he loved me,' he said.

'Oh, sir.' I abandoned my pathetic attempt at packing and guided him to the sitting room, where I sat him in his favourite armchair. I arranged an afghan about his shaking shoulders and brewed a pot of tea, though he did not drink much.

'I could prepare coq au vin for dinner, sir,' I offered. 'I managed to procure the recipe from Monsieur Anatole himself when we stayed at Mrs Travers's last month.'

'I'm not hungry,' Mr Wooster replied.

'Would you like a brandy, sir?'

'I'm not thirsty.'

'Perhaps a fire in the grate to keep the chill away?'

He hesitated. 'I don't think so.'

I took this as assent and set about lighting a fire.

It seemed that all Mr Wooster truly wanted, however, was for another human being to sit with him. I pulled up a straight-backed chair when Mr Wooster ordered me to stop hovering round, and I listened to him speak for a minute or two about some small detail of his relationship with Thornton Wrexton before lapsing into a period of silence and then repeating the cycle.

'What I don't understand,' he said during one of his sudden spells of vocal practice, 'is why he'd want five or ten of me anyway. They were _all_ like me, Jeeves. The resemblance was obvious.'

I felt compelled to respond. 'Though you may have had the same hair and eyes as the other gentlemen, I am convinced none had the same strength of heart, and it is with this oversight that Wrexton doomed himself.'

'What, he thought us all pushovers and creampuffs, you mean?'

'It does seem he miscalculated your capacity for forgiveness towards the undeserving, sir.'

Mr Wooster seemed to meditate on this a moment. 'I wonder. He was the jealous one, almost flying into a rage if a cove so much as glanced at me. And yet he was the one with half a dozen affairs on his plate.'

'So it is often the way, when one party is unfaithful, to suspect unfaithfulness in a perverse fashion,' I said.

Mr Wooster digested this as well. 'Have you ever loved and lost, Jeeves?' he asked suddenly.

I started to a near-visible degree. 'Sir?'

'Surely you were young once,' Mr Wooster said.

'I'm thirty-two, sir.'

'Ah. I am sometimes under the impression you've been around since time immemorial; you're just too full of information.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'But I mean, you must have once been a younger man, what?'

I considered keeping my peace, but instead I spoke truthfully. 'Yes, sir. When I was a much younger man of sixteen, I lost my first love.'

Mr Wooster toyed with a loose string from his afghan. 'Is it a story that might shed some light on the Wooster predicament? I could use some wise words, Jeeves.'

I struggled to frame the story from my past in such a way. It had been so long ago, I truthfully did not think of it any longer. It was one of those painful adventures of the heart that is left buried in childhood.

'I fell in love with the child of my employer, in whose house I was working as a footman,' I finally confessed.

Mr Wooster winced in sympathy. I nodded. 'We were both young and very foolish. We would meet clandestinely at night, though the meetings were innocent for the most part. There was idle talk of running away to be together, and we would hold each other's hands and walk through the woods that bordered the mansion.'

'What happened to her?'

I looked up and held Mr Wooster's questioning gaze. In this, at least, I could state the truth.

'He died of typhoid.'

The teacup in Mr Wooster's hands clattered to the carpet, and he cursed the hot liquid that splashed on him. I hastened to clean the mess while Mr Wooster sputtered.

'Sorry, Jeeves. _He_?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good Lord! No wonder you didn't bat an eyelash when it came to keeping my secret. I was so afraid you would go to the police, but— Jeeves, I didn't know you were like me!'

'I would hope, sir, that even if I were not an invert, my regard for you would still prevent me from handing you over to the authorities on such a charge.'

'Of course, of course.' My employer descended into silence again. I folded the soaked afghan to dry in front of the fire.

This morose mood of Mr Wooster's continued for several days, during which time he refused to dress, admit the company of friends or relatives, receive calls, or, for the most part, leave his bed. He also lost his appetite and ate only the smallest meals of toast and tea, though I attempted to entice him to eat his favourite foods. He seemed to feel no need to play the piano or read his thriller novels either.

I lived in fear that the carefree, joyful man I'd fallen in love with was forever gone, leaving only a broken shell behind. I confess that, late at night, when Mr Wooster had fallen into restless sleep, I would find myself alone in my quarters, overcome with emotion at seeing him so pained, and all over a man who was so very unworthy of him. But I could not let him see my own misery, not when he was burdened so heavily already.

 

[Continue to Part 4, the final part.](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/471021.html#cutid1)


	4. triedunture: Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 4)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
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_ **Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 4)** _   


It was nearly a week after the Mayfair incident that Mr Wooster finally directed me to lay out his blue stripe suit, which I have always thought complimented him best. I inquired after his plans, and he told me he was determined to hoist himself out of the dumps, to use his own words.

'I've decided that love is utter rot,' Mr Wooster said as he did up his silk tie in the mirror. 'I can't mope round the flat forever, Jeeves. The Wooster must fly again.'

'Most gratifying to hear, sir.'

'Yes, quite. I am a grown man of no piddling means, and I'm bound to be able to scoop up the ready and willing if I so choose.'

I aided him in shrugging on his waistcoat. 'Doubtlessly true, sir,' I said carefully, for this was a very different young master than the one who, only a day previous, had been wondering aloud how he would ever live without Thornton Wrexton at his side.

Mr Wooster's flashing eyes caught mine in the full-length mirror. 'I don't mind telling you, Jeeves, I plan on painting the town a dashed bright flame-colour tonight. I might find one strapping lad to share my bed, or I might find another. One cannot know what the night will bring.'

My brow furrowed at this. I looked about for some clue as to this sudden change of attitude in Mr Wooster while he busied himself with his cuff-links.

'I will say this, however: whomever I choose to make my evening playmate, I will be certain to lay out all the facts. No leading a vulnerable heart astray,' he chattered as he arranged his cuffs to his liking. 'I will say, "Harold," that is, if his name happens to be Harold, "Harold, I wish to inform you that while I find the idea of going to bed with you appealing, I do not intend to love you as love is utter rot." I daresay plenty of gentlemen will find the honesty refreshing.'

I picked up the copy of the morning paper that Mr Wooster had been perusing while still abed. It was folded to the society page, and the topmost item revealed to me all I needed to know. It appeared Mr Wrexton was announcing his betrothal to a Miss Geraldine Tomlin-Quim, a lady from an excellent family and possessing a comfortable fortune.

Truth be told, I found myself greatly relieved. Since the Mayfair incident, I had feared that Wrexton would recognise my part in the proceedings (as Mr Wooster had) and seek revenge against me. Now, however, it seemed that he had no recourse but to marry, as certainly every invert in London had heard about his misdeeds from the other slighted gentlemen. Perhaps those gentlemen had even threatened him themselves, for he had arrogantly pursued other men of considerable means. His standing among those men was forever tarnished, and nothing he could do to me or anyone else would change that. Wrexton's power to hold helpless men in his thrall was gone.

I placed the newspaper back on the footstool and turned to my master, who was agitated by his hair's inability to sit straight on one side, instead curling into a shape that displeased him.

'Sir,' I sighed, 'if you only wish to find a casual bedmate because of Mr Wrexton's new connection—'

'He despises that Tomlin-Quim girl,' he snapped suddenly. 'He told me all about her. I hope she bears him a dozen children; he hates those too, by the way.'

I allowed the corner of my mouth to curl into a small concerned frown. 'Then his future unhappiness is assured, sir. Is it really necessary to cast yourself into a fervour like this in reaction?'

Mr Wooster abandoned the task of combing his hair and placed his horsehair brushes on the dressing table. He leaned there heavily, as if his legs might not support him. He did not turn to face me as he spoke: 'It sounds mad, I know, but a part of me believed that perhaps, in time—' He paused. Brought a hand up to cover his eyes. 'I half-dreamed that he would return to me, the Thorny that I knew, who loved me and was so good to me,' he said in a strangled voice. 'But now...'

'Sir, if I may, I do not believe the man you knew was ever the real Thornton Wrexton,' I said softly.

Mr Wooster nodded. 'Yes, I did say you'd think it mad. But I feel compelled to do this, go get myself a warm body to lie next to, I mean. Is it revenge? Loneliness? I don't know.' Mr Wooster's hand trembled on the dark wood of the dressing table. 'I only know I can't go on like this. I want to feel something other than this horrible black despair inside my stomach. Even if it's a gross pantomime of real love. Is that so wrong?' he whispered.

'No, sir,' I answered in gentle tones. 'I only fear that, in your state of heightened emotion, men as opportunistic as Mr Wrexton might prey on you should you indiscriminately seek the company of a man.'

Mr Wooster sagged like a broken doll. 'What can I do, then? Call a rent-boy? I don't even know how one would go about—'

'No!' I said firmly, with perhaps more volume than I intended. The thought of a hired boy, filthy from life on the street, touching Mr Wooster's body, put dark thoughts in my mind. I swallowed and spoke more sedately. 'No, sir, I could not advise such a thing. Street walkers are a desperate breed, and the danger of blackmail for one such as yourself is too great.'

'Well, then I'll just have to take my chances in the night clubs,' Mr Wooster said, straightening once more and turning to me. His beautiful face, which I loved above all others, was lined with the strain of withholding emotion, and his eyes were red with unshed tears. I ached to gather him in my arms and provide a barrier between the cruel world and his heart. I found myself swearing, not for the first time, that I would gladly sacrifice myself for a wisp of his happiness.

And I realised that this was the opportunity for me to prove it.

'Will I suffice?' I asked before even the most obvious ramifications could be thought through.

Mr Wooster gaped at me. 'What?'

I unfolded my hands from behind my back and stood nearer to what I hoped was a relaxed pose. My gaze fastened on a point just above his shoulder, and I clarified my offer. 'If you are in need of physical release and any man will do, I—' I coughed lightly into my fist. How to phrase it? I would be honoured, I would cherish the chance, I would treat him as the precious treasure I knew him to be.

'I would fulfill that role, sir,' I finished quite lamely.

Mr Wooster cast his eyes skywards with something approaching his old humour. 'Jeeves, if you're trying to get a laugh out of me, you might consider enacting a Pat and Mike sketch instead, what?'

I stood still, unspeaking, though I felt my face colour hotly with shame. Of course the idea was preposterous to Mr Wooster. What was I but a substitute uncle for him, a servant with no claims to anything of his, let alone his bed. I bowed my head and waited for further barbs.

'Oh good Lord,' he finally murmured. 'You're serious, Jeeves?'

'Your distaste is understandable, sir—' I began.

'Wait.' Mr Wooster held up a finger. We were silent for a beat, then he said, 'I'm getting a brandy. You'll have one as well, and don't try to refuse.'

He left the bedroom and returned with two large glasses. I obediently drank the one he offered me and watched him do the same. The warm burn of the alcohol helped to calm my nerves somewhat, but I still waited anxiously for Mr Wooster to speak.

He did so while turning his now-empty snifter in his hand, examining the glass from all angles. 'It would be rather convenient for me, I suppose.'

The words underscored how loveless this exchange would be, and the thought sent a stab of pain through my chest. But this was all for Mr Wooster, and I had to set aside my feelings so I might provide him a service he required. I steeled my jaw and braced myself to accept this damnable duty.

Mr Wooster gave one final nod and took my snifter from my nerveless fingers. 'Let's give it a try, what?'

As he turned to place the glasses on the side table, I took a shuddering breath to collect my thoughts. Though this act would not involve any tender emotions on Mr Wooster's part, I was determined to make the experience as pleasing to him as I could. In my mind, this meant the exact opposite of his experiences with Mr Wrexton. I recalled that Mr Wrexton had never, to my knowledge, fully undressed in Mr Wooster's presence; I now saw that such a thing might have seemed a vulnerability to that villain.

Well, if he had refused to appear vulnerable to Mr Wooster, I would have to be as vulnerable as I felt in my shaking limbs.

I began undressing myself with my usual deft efficiency.

Mr Wooster turned back round to find me divested of my tie and waistcoat, and working on shrugging out of my starched white shirt. His blue eyes widened at the sight of my naked chest, and I hesitated, suddenly unsure.

'Would it please you to keep me clothed, sir?' I asked.

His eyes darted back up to my face. 'No, no, that is, whatever you'd—' He cleared his throat. 'Carry on, Jeeves.'

'Thank you, sir.' I removed the shirt and folded it on a nearby chair. Mr Wooster sat on the edge of his bed, watching me as a zoo visitor might watch an exotic monkey. Under this scrutiny, I removed my shoes, socks, and sock-garters, my trousers and dangling braces, and finally my underthings. When I stood entirely nude before Mr Wooster, I held my head high and said nothing, waiting for his direction.

He pulled at his ear, a gesture of indecision, and said, 'Erm, what exactly should we—?'

'Anything you desire, sir. Only name it,' I said.

He shifted on the bed, his always-busy hands now empty and skittering. 'I feel dashed silly ordering you round like this. I didn't— I mean to say, I was never the one in charge, before.' He carefully avoided both Wrexton's name and my eyes.

I considered his words. If Mr Wooster had lacked control in his previous liaisons, surely there was an act that afforded him all the control and pleasure he could want with none of the pressure of reciprocation. I approached the bed and lowered myself to my knees.

Mr Wooster watched me, his eyes going impossibly wide as my intention dawned on him. I reached out with tentative hands and rested my palms (so large, so work-roughened, so unlike his own) on his finespun covered thighs.

'Would this be objectionable to you, sir?' I asked.

'No,' he said in the barest whisper.

I reached for his trouser flies, my gaze fastened on that task and not his blank face. 'You must put your hands in my hair, sir, and guide me according to your preference. If I falter in this, please do not hesitate to correct me.'

'All right,' he said, and settled his hands lightly on my head.

'Do not be afraid to pull, sir.'

Mr Wooster didn't seem to respond to this remark. I had finally opened his flies and revealed his member, half-hard and pulsing in my hand. I endeavoured to bring him to full hardness with gentle teasing breaths and grazing touches over the delicate skin. Mr Wooster's fingers tightened in my hair minutely, and I took this as my cue to give a small lick to the head, where a bead of liquid begged to be swept away.

An encouraging moan emanated from Mr Wooster's throat, and I dared to glance up at his face, pinched in rapt pleasure, his pink mouth open and panting, his eyes shut tight.

I took him in my mouth, and his hands clutched at my hair like a drowning man would a life preserver. I fought the wave of lust that washed over me: the musky scent of him, the feel of his thighs under my hand, the sound of his cries of pleasure, they all threatened to break my resolve.

But no, I reminded myself. This was for Mr Wooster's pleasure, not my own. As wonderful as it would have been to shut my eyes and pretend that this was an act of love, that Mr Wooster would take me in his arms afterward and press kisses to my face, that I could stretch my naked body beside his and sleep in peace and contentment, I knew these were fantasies. I was nothing more to him than a warm mouth and an empty throat.

A thread of moisture worked its way down my face. At first I thought it was sweat from my exertions, but soon another followed, warm and salt-laced on my lips, and I realised in horror that I was weeping. The tears continued to fall, pushed to the brink of my eyelids by the churning thoughts in my mind (_you're furniture to him, you're nothing, you never will be, and you don't deserve it anyway_). To my absolute mortification, my tears began dripping on Mr Wooster's legs, where they soon soaked through his trousers.

'Jeeves?' Mr Wooster said, his voice both breathless and concerned.

I was ashamed to feel my throat closing, and the difficulty in finding breath forced me to release Mr Wooster's member from my lips. I choked and coughed, all the while failing to stop the tears that now ran freely down my face.

'Jeeves, whatever is the matter?' Mr Wooster's hands gentled in my hair, and they cradled my head in a soothing fashion, which only served to make me cry more.

'I am sorry, sir,' I said while wiping a forearm across my wet face. 'I will be better directly.'

'Good God, it's not old memories, is it? Does this remind you too much of the one you lost?' he asked, his fingers still combing through my hair.

'No, sir.' My voice refused to stay steady, and I croaked pathetically. 'I—'

'It's all right, old thing, it's all right,' he whispered to me, his hands still petting. 'We needn't continue.'

Fresh tears sprang to my eyes at that. Even after all he'd been subjected to, Mr Wooster was still the kind and gentle man I loved. And here I was, blubbering like a child and about to lose the only opportunity I'd have in my life to touch him as I dreamed.

I swallowed a sob and rose up on my knees, pressing a kiss to Mr Wooster's mouth. This kiss said 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry' and 'always.' It said all the things I would never be able to put into words for Mr Wooster, and most of all, it said goodbye. For I knew I could not continue as I had. I had not the strength for it.

I broke the kiss slowly, my own traitorous mouth wishing to stay connected as long as it could to Mr Wooster's sweet lips. I wiped the dampness from my shut eyes and attempted to regain my composure.

'You're in love with me.' Mr Wooster's voice shook like a leaf in the wind.

I nodded, still unable to open my eyes, fearful of what I'd see in Mr Wooster's face.

'Is that why you offered to ease my need, Jeeves?' he asked, strangely devoid of emotion.

'I wish I could fulfill this office for you without so much as an eyeblink,' I said in a halting voice. 'I thought I could put aside all I felt. You are more important—' I was overcome once more, tears welling up in my burning eyes. I took a breath and soldiered on: 'It appears I am incapable of separating my love for you from my duty to you. Please forgive me, sir.'

My body trembled with the strain of remaining upright on my knees, and Mr Wooster wordlessly pulled me up to sit beside him on the bed.

'Look at us,' he murmured. 'What a pair. Love has caused us nothing but trouble.'

I dried my eyes with the edge of my hand, suddenly aware of my ridiculous nudity and wishing I could sink through the floor and be gone.

'You watched me make love with Thorny, even though you loved me yourself?' he suddenly demanded in a high voice, as if he had just now recalled the incident and its consequences.

'He threatened to hurt you if I did not comply,' I said simply, miserably.

'Jeeves, you— Why didn't you tell me? I would have—' He paused. 'I wouldn't have credited it, would I? Good Lord, I was such an idiot.'

We sat on the bed for a space of time, and I endeavoured to bring my hiccuping breathing under control.

'Let's pretend for a moment,' Mr Wooster finally said with deliberate slowness, 'that love is not utter rot. You maintain that you love me, Jeeves?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And what does that mean?'

I was stymied, for the love I felt had been so long a part of me that I knew not what it meant. It meant everything. It was how I poured his morning tea and how I indulged in our playful games of arguing over his clothing. It was in the water I poured into his bath and in the lines I ironed into his trousers. It was the one thing I held in my breast that did not need to be clever or cunning or complex; it only was.

'Sir, it means I am yours to do with as you will,' I said.

'And in return?'

'I can ask for nothing in return.' I dared to brush my fingertips over his alabaster cheek, and then closed my hand into a fist on the coverlet. 'I have already taken too much from you: your trust, your secrets, your gentle touch. Please, tell me what you would have me do. Only do not ask me to use my body to pleasure you; would that I could, but the sting of unrequited love threatens to undo me.'

A lone tear, the last of a seemingly endless string, travelled down my cheek, and Mr Wooster reached out and dashed it away with his thumb.

'Love is _such_ utter rot,' he sighed, and my heart twisted once more. 'You did nothing wrong, Jeeves. Everything you've done has been for my benefit; I see that now. And yet here you are, holding the short end of the stick.'

His hand lingered on my jaw, and I fought a whimper at that wonderful caress.

Mr Wooster leaned in and whispered like a child sharing a secret: 'If love weren't utter rot, as we're pretending, how would it happen, Jeeves?'

'Sir?' I whispered in return.

'If you were requited, how would you make love to me?'

I bowed my head. 'Forgive me, sir, but it seems cruel to ask me to contemplate—'

'Surely you've thought about it?'

I met his curious gaze. 'A thousand times.'

Mr Wooster gestured for me to continue. I expelled a breath through my nose. 'Slowly, sir, with all the care one might afford to a priceless work of art. Even in my dreams, I can scarcely believe I am allowed to touch you as I wish, and so I do so with reverence. Tenderness...' I trailed off with a shake of my head, unable to finish.

'That sounds dashed pleasant,' Mr Wooster said breathlessly.

'It is,' I agreed, 'until I wake and remember that it is not real.' I rose to collect my clothing. 'Perhaps I should bid you a good night, sir.'

'Jeeves.' He grasped my wrist in his hand, his grip deceptively strong. 'You know I'm very fond of you?'

'Yes, sir. It warms me to know it.'

'And you know I'd be loath to live without you?'

'Yes, sir. You are kind to acknowledge my skill as your valet.'

He worried his perfect lip between his teeth. 'And you know that, well, if love weren't such utter rot, yours would be the first name on the list of suitable helpmeets?'

So close, yet so far; my heart clenched. 'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

I freed my wrist from his hand and turned to leave.

'Jeeves!' My master stood suddenly.

I turned back to him. 'Sir?'

His mouth opened and closed, his hands wringing before him. 'I'm beginning to think, Jeeves,' he said, 'that perhaps love isn't rot after all.'

I fought the spark of hope in my chest, squashing it back into nothingness. 'I am not looking for pity, sir.'

'And I have none to give you!' he cried. 'Dash it, Jeeves, come here, would you?'

I stepped closer, my clothing still in my hands, my naked body bared before his intense gaze. He sunk his fingers into the hair at the back of my head and drew me down for a kiss. It was only a press of lips at first, but Mr Wooster deepened it into sensual exploration, and I tasted something extraordinary in him.

'How could I have ever been fooled by such a cheap imitation?' he murmured against my neck when the kiss was broken. 'This is real, Jeeves. You're real.'

'Sir.' The clothing fell from my hands and I lifted shaking palms to rest on his perfect hips. 'Sir, do you—?'

He nuzzled against me, his nose brushing my ear. 'Love you like the dickens,' he said.

I pulled back to regard his face, which was open and sincere. 'Truly?' I asked.

'Truly.' He grinned. 'You're not going to cry again, are you?'

I laughed, and he kissed me once more. His hands, questing and soft, skated over my bare back and flanks, causing gooseflesh to rise there.

'You would have walked away from me,' Mr Wooster said in wonder. 'The thing that I felt these past few days, that awful, wrenching pain, you were resigned to carry it round with you forever. How, Jeeves? How could you do such a thing?'

'I love you,' I said against the soft wave of his hair beneath my lips. 'You are all that matters. I would have given my life—'

'Well, that is going to have to bally well change!' Mr Wooster squeezed his arms tightly round my middle, nearing robbing me of air. 'Jeeves, I don't ever want you to do such a thing for me! Sacrificing yourself for the young master is all very well in theory, but I'm putting my foot down on the practice right now. If I'm here,' he raised one hand flat into the air, 'I want you to be here as well,' and he raised his other to the same height.

'Equals, sir?'

'Exactly.'

My heart overflowed. I had never dared hope for such a thing, not in a million dreams. I kissed him in a way that spoke to my absolute agreement. I even managed to dip him low in my arms.

'Mmmphf!' He clutched at my shoulders, and then panted for breath when I released him. 'Jeeves,' he said in charmingly shaky tones, 'you have no clothes on, and I do. I seek equality in this matter as well, you know.'

I led him back to the bed, where I removed the clothes from his body with the same care I used to dress him. Each button and clasp was a joyous discovery, revealing more of his pale skin to me. I parted the panes of his shirt with especial slowness, and he quirked an eyebrow at me.

'Not to be overly critical Jeeves, but I don't suppose you could rush things along?'

'No, sir,' I murmured, 'I cannot.'

'Ah.'

I let my hands roam him, a perfect landscape: the valleys of his hipbones, the riverbed of his ribs (too prominent from missed meals), the hills of his knees, the constellations of a dozen perfect bones in his ankles. These I kissed as I removed his shoes and socks, and he squirmed under the attention.

'I say, that tickles.'

I looked up from my work, up the bare stretch of his body, once again roused to excitement. I held his gaze. 'If anything I do displeases you, I implore you to say so, sir.'

'Oh, I didn't mean for you to stop,' he said. 'It only felt strange.' He gave me a knowing smile. 'Though I suppose that's your plan, to show me new things. Better things, what?'

'That is my plan, sir.' I bent my head to kiss his elegant calf, which flexed becomingly in my hands.

'Erm, Jeeves. Does this plan eventually lead to anything that two people might participate in?' His bright eyes sparkled down at me. 'I'd like to be an active player in the proceedings.'

'I would advocate patience, sir.' I licked a stripe along the side of his thigh.

Mr Wooster sprang into action with a speed that surprised me, and he bowled me over onto my back, his hands on my wrists.

'I've been patient. Now I want you,' he murmured, brushing his lips against mine.

I revelled in the feel of our bare bodies in such close contact, the million points of light where his skin touched mine.

'I have always harboured, well, unseemly thoughts about you, Jeeves,' he whispered against my collarbone. 'I put such notions aside because I didn't understand my nature, and then— But, oh, you feel so marvellous.'

We arched against each other, the contours of our bodies fitting seamlessly together. 'You are so beautiful,' I told him quietly.

He laughed beneath my chin. 'Have you seen my nose? My gangly legs? My—'

'All beautiful. Every part.' I trailed my hand down his flank. His skin was heated to burning.

He rose up above me, his arms locked to support him. The dim evening light filtered through the bedroom curtains and played along the planes of his face in a striking way. 'Will you take me?' he asked.

'Do you wish me to?'

'Do _you_ wish to?' he returned with a teasing smile.

'Of course I do.' My hands could not stop travelling up and down the smooth length of his body. He captured one of them in his own and drew it to his lips, sucking on my fingers wetly.

I could have peaked right there.

But Mr Wooster released my hand and then guided it between his legs...

'Sir!' I jerked my hand free from his grip. 'That will not—'

'What? What's wrong?' Mr Wooster asked, panic colouring his voice. 'What have I done?'

'Nothing, you have done nothing wrong.' I kissed him tenderly to assure him of such. 'I only fear this will not be enough to prepare you for lovemaking.'

He blinked, his brow furrowed and his cheeks flushed. 'But that was always— Well, it was all that—'

A brief surge of anger flowed through my veins; I could have killed Wrexton for treating my love's body with the same callous indifference as his heart. But I calmed. He was gone now, and I could make things right.

'I will return directly, sir. I promise.' I kissed him once more before slipping off the bed and hurrying from the room.

I have never ransacked my quarters before, but I did so now. I knew I had somewhere among my possessions a small blue jar that contained a cool, slick jelly that was perfect for the task at hand. I always made certain to keep a supply, the Vaseline brand being useful for everything from squeaky door hinges to chapped hands to—

'Aha!' I cried as I finally found the small pot in my sock drawer.

I sprinted back to the master bedroom to find Mr Wooster sprawled on his back, looking elegantly disheveled and impatient. He mimed taking a pocket watch from his non-existent waistcoat and glanced down at it in annoyance.

'My apologies, sir,' I said, joining him again on the bed. 'I believe this will make the experience a more pleasurable one for you.'

He took the jar from me and examined it. 'Good Lord, the idea never crossed my mind,' he said with a shrug. 'Well, carry on, Jeeves.'

I opened the jar and scooped up a large glob of the substance with my fingers. Mr Wooster watched me eagerly, wriggling himself into an even more accessible position, but he was disappointed when, instead of reaching out to him immediately, I brought my hand before my mouth.

I breathed slowly over the jelly; in answer to his questioning eyebrow, I explained, 'It will be very cold for you if I do not first warm it a little.'

His face was a wonderful mixture of being touched by the gesture and yet frustrated. 'Must you be so kind to me, Jeeves?'

'Yes, sir, I must.'

When the slick substance was warmed to my satisfaction, I finally applied myself to the task to preparing Mr Wooster. I did so with very great care, so much so that he protested what he perceived as teasing.

'You're right, this stuff makes everything much easier,' he sighed, pressing down on my finger. 'Under these circumstances, one might imagine you could go a little faster, Jeeves.'

'One might imagine, sir.' I added another digit to the one already within him, but kept my movements minute and slow.

'Come on, come on,' he babbled as he writhed against my hand. 'I'm ready; it's fine; come on.'

'I beg you to give me just a few moments more,' I soothed, letting my free hand pet along his quivering side.

His head fell on the pillow with a groan, but he allowed me to work his body open in my gentle way. When he could easily accept three of my fingers, I was obliged to cease my preparations.

Mr Wooster, who caught on to some things like a prized pupil, was already reaching for the little jar of Vaseline and my turgid member. 'Shall I warm it for you, as well?' he asked.

He did so, despite my protests that I would not feel the cold as keenly, and slicked my hardness with a touch that was as delicious as it was loving. When I was fully covered in that substance, Mr Wooster lay back and opened his arms.

'Like this?' he asked.

'Yes.' I settled atop him, and his arms went round my shoulders. 'I must watch your face.'

He hummed in agreement and kissed me, reaching down between us as he did so. It was he that guided me to his entrance; when the blunt tip of me came flush against his body, we both shuddered.

'You're...quite large,' he noted.

'I'm sorry, sir,' I said, for I did not wish to cause him discomfort.

Mr Wooster laughed. 'Oh, Jeeves. What are you apologising for? It's going to feel magnificent in only a little while.' His hand urged me onward, and I breeched him. Just a bit. Then another small bit. Then another, and yet more, until I was fully seated within his body.

'Move,' Mr Wooster demanded.

My hips twitched more in reaction from his husky voice than any order on my part. The both of us moaned, our muscles jumping in our arms and legs, much like horses that wish to gallop.

'I am not made of glass,' he said against my neck, his breath warm and moist there. 'You don't have to treat me as such, Jeeves.'

'Sir, although I do wish to be careful with you,' I ground out between clenched teeth, 'my reluctance to move actually stems from the fear that _I_ might be the one to break if I do so.'

'Maybe I'd like to see you break, Jeeves.' And the wonderful imp took my earlobe between his teeth and nibbled on it.

I shivered against him uncontrollably. 'I did warn you, sir,' I said.

'Consider me warned. Now move.'

I complied.

Making love to Mr Wooster had long been a dream of mine, but I found that nothing had prepared me for the experience. His beauty, already the pinnacle of fair English gorgeousness in my mind, was heightened by his flushed cheeks, his panting mouth, his strong arms round my neck, and his small, breathy noises. His eyes, however, were the most beautiful: normally bright blue and laughing, they were now wide, shocked, as if the things I was making him feel were a wholly new and fantastic experience. He stared up at me with those eyes, and I found I could not look away.

It seemed so strange that the simple act of moving a small portion of my body in and out of his own would produce such a myriad of sensations. But my arms trembled, my stomach felt fluttery, the blood pounded in my temples, and my lungs were bereft of air. The greatest of all, however, was the love I felt flowing between us, into us, filling us both. And looking into his eyes, I could see he was experiencing much the same.

One of his hands cupped my face. 'I didn't know,' he whispered in time with our movements. 'Didn't know it could be like this.'

I could not reply for fear of further weeping, this time of joy. I turned my head and kissed his hand instead.

'It should always be like this,' he said.

'It shall,' I answered with fierce conviction.

'Oh, Jeeves.' He brought one leg up to wrap round my waist, and he buried his face in my neck. 'Love you. So much.'

'Your face,' I said in quiet request. 'Please—'

I placed my hands on either side of his head, and he pulled back to look at me once more. His own hands came up to bracket my own face, so that neither of us could look away.

'I love you,' he repeated, his eyes saying the words as loudly as his voice.

'My beloved,' I called him, and kissed him with all my mounting passion.

As our mouths moved together, one of my hands stole down to his hardened cock, trapped between our stomachs. I stroked only a moment, and then he gasped into my mouth and shuddered in my arms, reaching the precipice with a glad cry. I followed him over that cliff edge. And I clung to him as if he was the only thing left in the world.

I drifted back to the surface of the earth, aware only in stages of the cooling sweat that dotted my skin, the warm wetness of Mr Wooster's release on my torso, and my inability to breathe properly. Then, happily, I perceived that Mr Wooster was still curled up in my arms, undergoing much the same ordeal.

'I say, Jeeves,' he panted.

'Indeed, sir.' I kissed the corner of his lips and reluctantly moved to release him from my grasp.

But Mr Wooster tightened his own arms round my frame. 'Where do you think you're going?' he asked.

'I need to procure a dampened cloth, sir. You will be uncomfortable tonight if I do not wash you. Such...prolific exertions have—'

He thumped a slack fist against my chest. 'Stay where you are, Jeeves. Don't dream of moving a muscle.'

'But sir, the fluids—'

'Can be dispensed with in the morning.' He yawned against my shoulder. 'Sleep now, Jeeves.'

I confess it was not difficult to let the exhaustion, both mentally and bodily, overwhelm me. I slept like the dead with Mr Wooster beside me.

I woke the next morning to find him propped up on one elbow, watching me closely. He smiled down at me and said, 'Hullo there, Jeeves.'

It took but a moment for my mind to recall all the wondrous events of the previous night. 'Good morning, sir,' I said.

'Sleep well?'

'Extraordinarily, sir.'

'I'll say. It's nearly ten o'clock.'

I sat up so swiftly and with such a horrified expression on my face that Mr Wooster laughed quite loudly. 'Oh, don't be so shocked, Jeeves. It's not as if you had anywhere to be.'

'But your breakfast, sir, and tea, and—'

He kissed me then, mollifying me completely. 'I required you here,' he said when he pulled away. 'And now, I believe I require a bath. Do you think, Jeeves, that it is possible for my bathtub to hold two men of roughly our size and shape?'

'If the two specimens are not averse to close quarters, sir, I believe such an arrangement is possible.'

'Brilliant.' He batted me lightly in the face with a down pillow. 'Now stop laying about. You've a bath to run.'

The life of a valet is one of varied hours, with additional tasks supplementing the daily chores of a home's upkeep in no small measure. One must be prepared to conform to a new schedule should one's gentleman require it.

'Jeeves!' he chortled as I sprang on him with attacks of playful nips to his neck.

I have been exceedingly fortunate in finding a post as Mr Wooster's valet. Exceedingly fortunate beyond all measure.

 

fin.

> Oh my goodness! I don't think I'm exaggerating when I call this tale epic. It is incredibly long and dense and there is a LOT going on in it, and I'm sorry for anyone who spent a good chunk of their life on it, and I hope it at least brought you some enjoyment.
> 
> Since I already wrote 20,000+ words, I don't think it would be too odd to have a very lengthy end note here. First, thanks to [](http://hwshipper.livejournal.com/profile)[**hwshipper**](http://hwshipper.livejournal.com/) who betas like a champ and always points out what needs work, and thanks to the flist who supported me in working on this crazy idea, and thanks to T who said "oh my fuck, you're not going to shoot the butler again, are you?" (He thinks I have a thing for hurting poor Jeeves, and maybe I do! I am sorry, Jeeves.)
> 
> Thanks to all my friends' awful significant others who made a great basis for the awful Thornton Wrexton. Man, my friends date some douchebags!
> 
> Thanks thanks thanks for reading. It's been a year since I entered this fandom, and I've loved every moment of it. Please accept this as a sort of anniversary gift. Love and kisses to all.

 

EDIT: You can download the podfic [here as an mp3](http://podfic.jinjurly.com/audfiles/2200904271.zip).


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